


In Pink

by Blaumeise



Category: Guns N' Roses, Velvet Revolver
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:20:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26009407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blaumeise/pseuds/Blaumeise
Summary: Some people look good in pink...
Relationships: Duff McKagan/Slash
Comments: 8
Kudos: 33





	In Pink

**Author's Note:**

> In case you don't know what this is about: Just google "Velvet Revolver Halloween 2004". The picture should come up.

Why anybody would want to play guitar wearing a mask was beyond Slash. Running around with a fast food container on his head was ridiculous enough, but the mask was one step too far. It was hot under the blasted thing, hot and sticky. Sweat itched on his skin and kept running into his eyes. In addition, the mask refused to stay in one place. Twice already had it covered his eyes and he had been blind for over a minute before he had been able to remove a hand from the guitar for long enough to push it back into place. But the worst, the absolutely unacceptable part was that he couldn’t smoke while he was wearing it. How ugly did you have to be to put up with something like that?

Slash almost envied Duff. He shouldn’t be envying somebody wearing a pink dress, fishnet stockings and a plastic tiara, but right now he was ready to swap. Almost. He cast a look into Duff's direction and Duff grinned back, cigarette clenched between his teeth like a dog chewing on a bone. He adjusted the tiara in his hair and batted his lashes.

It didn't turn him on. No way in hell was he turned on by a guy in a dress. Duff in a dress wasn't hot, no matter how much he wriggled his little, polyester-covered ass, showed off his legs and tossed his hair back over his shoulder. At least he had the right hair for the costume. Long and blond and silky and… oh God, Duff had princess-hair! It was disgusting.

Slash sneaked another glance at Duff's ass. Maybe there were some benefits in wearing a mask, at least nobody knew where he was looking. Of course, his hair had fulfilled the same purpose just as effectively, and unlike the plastic-thing in front of his face, hair looked cool.

Legs. Legs sticking out from under a skirt had a completely different impact than legs wrapped in pants, no matter how tight those pants were. Skirts were something else. It was the mixture of not exactly seeing where those legs ended and the knowledge that one swift hand movement was enough to find out. He wondered if Duff wore boxer-shorts beyond that dress. It was a distinct possibility. Sometimes Duff's fashion-sense was in urgent need for readjustment.

Duff propped one foot up on a monitor and Slash tried to sneak a quick glance under the skirt without being too obvious. There was no chance. Sadly Duff's dress wasn't that short. Not that it mattered because he was not turned on by his bassist wearing a pink dress. Not in the least. Later, when Duff had changed into leather again, then was the moment to be turned on, but not now.

Three songs and Slash's misery was over. Duff blew kisses and dropped courtesies at the audience, until Scott grabbed his arm and pulled him off stage. Slash followed, his eyes on Duff's ass. At least he looked better in a skirt than Axl. Not that it changed anything. Men in skirts were ridiculous. So what if Duff had the legs and the ass and everything else to wear a dress and princess-hair with a tiara in it, he still wasn't turned on by it. Not one bit.

“You know Slash,” Duff stopped suddenly and turned around to him. “You really should take of that stupid bucket and that mask, you know. You look like a demented version of Hannibal Lecter.”

“Ah yeah?” Slash tried to glare, but the effect was lost under the mask. “And how do you look? Like a fucking beauty queen?”

“I'm a ballerina, I'm not a beauty queen." Duff pulled his lips into a pout. "And I know, pink makes me look fat,” he tucked at a shoulder-strap. “I’ve put this on extra for you, but if you don’t like it...” He sighed theatrically and tossed his hair back over his shoulder.

Slash glared some more. It was all Duff's fault. He thought this was funny, but it wasn't. Not when he was rock-hard watching his bassist prance around and flaunt all he had to offer. And Duff had a lot to offer. Yes, it was Duff's fault and he would show him what he was getting for being such a prick-tease.

He opened the next door to the left. It led into a small storage-room that contained lots of shit and nothing else. Slash grabbed Duff’s hand and pulled him in. Duff giggled while Slash kicked the door shut behind them.

"You think this is funny, huh?" He pushed Duff against the wall and grabbed his hips. "Do you know what naughty little girls get if they wear their skirts too short and don't keep their legs closed?"

Duff in a dress shouldn’t turn him on, absolutely not, but in some crazy, fucked up way, it did. They were together for such a long time, and Slash could hardly remember the last time he had felt the urge to spontaneously pull Duff into a dark corner for a quick, semi-public fuck. They had gotten lazy over the years and a bed was so much more convenient than a niche in a dark alley or a stall in a public toilet.

Slash slipped his hands under the skirt and shoved it up to Duff's hips, running his fingers over the inner parts of his thighs. No boxer-shorts. Thank God, it would only have ruined the mood. Duff, thoughtful and considerate as always, had abstained from underwear. He was ready for everything.

Slash curled his hand around Duff's balls and squeezed. Duff gasped, but then he started to struggle. Slash grabbed his wrists and tried to hold him still, but Duff squirmed and fidgeted until he slammed him full of frustration against the wall.

"Grmph," Duff made with his usual eloquence. "Don't be so rude. And take off that fucking mask or I'll get nightmares."

It was good advice. Slash pulled the mask and the bucket off and tossed them aside.

Duff sighed in relief.

"Much better," he said and snickered. "For a moment I thought it would be cool to play 'raped by a freak', but I much rather like this." He seized Slash's hair and pulled a little. "Now, what was it that naughty, little girls get for wearing short skirts?" he cooed. "You wanted to show me."

He’d missed this, Slash noticed in surprise. He’d given up on chicks for Duff a few years ago, convinced that he could live without tits and pussy, but he had never thought about what a turn-on it was to slip up a skirt, to feel the fabric on his bare arms and have free access to everything he wanted. Sex with Duff usually involved a lot of struggling and fussing to get rid of pants, it involved hopping on one foot, shoes needed to be pulled off, it was a fucking nuisance. This was completely different.

Slash pushed a finger through the fishnets and pulled.

“Ouch!” Duff complained when Slash ripped a hole into the stockings.

He lifted one of Duff's legs and draped it over his arm while he tried at the same time to fiddle his cock out of his pants. Duff hopped helplessly, holding on to Slash's shoulders to keep his balance.

"And you call yourself a ballerina," Slash grunted. He would have liked to lay Duff down somewhere, on a table for example, instead they stumbled around between boxes and cleaning utensils.

"You have to hurry up a little," Duff whispered. He wrapped his arms around Slash's neck and nearly made them both stumble and fall. "We have to be back in a few minutes. And we still have to change. Unless you want to play the complete gig like that."

It was true. Although the temptation was big to just haul Duff back onstage like he was, his stockings torn, his dress soiled with come and the tiara hanging down from his ear. Stop, no, they hadn't gotten that far yet. There were still a few steps in between that had to be taken care of. Slash licked his fingers and pushed them without warning into Duff's ass.

Duff howled in a not very ladylike way and for a moment Slash worried about who might have heard him. Then he forgot about it. He had never tried to be discrete about sex, he wouldn't start now.

"You wanted to know what happens to naughty girls?" he asked, and pulled Duff's hips away from the wall for better access. "This is what happens."

He still had his aim. And that was saying a lot, because the angle was really uncomfortable. He should have turned Duff around first, but now it was too late. Maybe most of his sex-life took place in the bed, or on the couch, or on the kitchen-table these days, but apparently he still knew how to fuck a girl up against a wall. Or a guy for that matter.

Duff whimpered, and his hopping grew annoying while he rubbed his back up and down the wall like the horny little slut he was. He wasn't a little girl after all, but pretty tall and heavy and Slash panted with the effort to keep him upright and open, and fuck him at the same time.

"Hold still," he grunted, when Duff started to squirm like an eel and his skin grew about as slick with sweat. Slash jerked his head back as he almost lost an eye to one of the tiara-spikes. He pulled the piece of ugly plastic-jewellery out of Duff's hair, not caring about the quarter pound of blond that went down with it.

He pushed Duff back against the wall and grinded his hips forward, grabbing and squeezing his cock at the same time. Duff screamed. It was a high-pitched, ecstatic scream, and Slash gave up his hopes that there were still people backstage who weren't aware that he was fucking his bassist in a pink dress.

One hand propped against the wall, the other still under Duff's leg, he thrust forward while Duff squealed and whimpered and whined into his ear.

"Fuck off!" he yelled when somebody knocked against the door.

"Slash?" a familiar voice asked hesitantly. It was Scott or Matt or somebody else he knew, but right now he didn't care. "Duff? Are you OK?"

Duff's panting didn't qualify as reply.

"We wanted to take a photo."

A photo? Were they really asking him to stop for a photo?

"Don't stop," Duff gasped, and pulled at his hair. "I swear, if you stop now I'll tell everybody that you can't get it up anymore."

Instead of a reply, Slash slammed forward.

"What the fuck are they doing in there?" the voice asked.

"You're not really asking that, are you?" somebody else said. 

Duff was making little hickuppy noises now, a sure sign that he was about to come. Slash knew the full arsenal of Duff-type sex-noises, from his little gasps and pants up to the high-pinched squeals and these snort-like grunts that reminded him of a wild pig digging for truffles. Not that he had ever heard one, but in his imagination, it sounded similar.

Determined not to come first, Slash squeezed Duff's cock a little harder and Duff, who hardly ever participated in Slash's 'I-last-longer-game' came somewhere under his skirt. With one last triumphant growl Slash slammed into him again and came himself. It was about time. Duff had given up on balancing on one foot. Instead had collapsed around his neck and Slash promised himself to start working out again. He struggled to prop up both, himself and Duff, and settled him between two mops against the wall.

"Are you done now?" somebody asked from outside, and Slash buried his face in Duff's hair, which was sweaty and tousled and not as princess-like as it had been a couple of minutes ago.

"Where's my tiara?" Duff asked and pushed Slash away. He looked… forbidden. His stockings were torn, his dress crumpled and soiled, but he didn't mind. Instead he picked up the tiara and put it carefully back onto his head. "How do I look? I don't look like I've just been fucked, do I?"

Slash shook his head and shoved his dick back into his pants while Duff straightened his dress.

"You know," he said and flashed Slash a lopsided grin. "I never knew how comfortable such a dress is." He threw his arm over Slash's shoulder. "Nothing is tweaking, nothing is strangling your balls. Maybe I should wear something like this more often."

"No you shouldn't," Slash said and, reached for the doorknob. "I hate to break it to you. But pink makes you look fat."

-The End-


End file.
